


Retrouvaille

by redwingto (SeramPangeran)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeramPangeran/pseuds/redwingto
Summary: We will meet again my friend,A hundred years from todayFar away from where we livedAnd where we used to play.We will know each other's' eyesAnd wonder where we metYour laugh will sound familiarYour heart, I won't forget.





	Retrouvaille

**Author's Note:**

> Good God, I can't remember when I wrote this. I remember being really excited and motivated when the idea came to me and then really... not when I finally sat down to write it. College will do that to you, I guess.  
> This is dedicated to the wonderful aph-franzbroetchen on tumblr! She was excited for this and I neglected to post it when I meant to. I'm sorry :(

Ludwig could smell the dinner Feliciano was cooking from across the house-- fresh basil, sun-dried tomatoes, frying onions. The clattering of dishes and pans drowned out his cheerful singing, his rich tenor warbling out from the open kitchen.  
Ludwig raised his head from his book with a small smile and stood up from the large couch in the living room, making his way towards his lover. The song was old, something familiar that he couldn't quite put his finger on-

_“Tu stai nelli occhi ond’amorose vespe_  
_mi pungon sí, che ’nfin qua il sento et ploro-”_  
He staggered, a hand flying up to clutch his head as a sudden pain wracked through his skull. He felt hot and cold all at once, and something tickled at the edge of his mind, something long lost, a memory…

_“Ludovico?_ Dinner is-” Feliciano’s head poked out from the open archway of the kitchen, tan skin flushed a light pink from the heat of the stove. Ludwig looked up at him, trying to hide a wince. Feliciano frowned.

“Dinner is ready? I'll be right there.” He tried for a smile. Feliciano’s brow furrowed. Damn it. Those damn headaches. They always took him by surprise, always when it was him and Feli relaxing together.

_“Ludovico,”_ he chastised, putting his hands on his slim hips. “Are you still having those headaches?”

Ludwig sighed, shoulders sagging a bit. Really, Feliciano was worrying over nothing. “I am fine. It was a minor thing. Honestly,” he added when Feliciano’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he walked over to place a surprisingly cool hand against his cheek. Ludwig couldn’t help but to lean into it, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a wave of calm swept through him. He’d always loved Feliciano’s hands, delicate artist hands that they were, with the power to create and give life to anything he touched.

Feliciano hummed as he studied Ludwig with a critical eye. “If you’re sure,” he murmured.

Ludwig raised a hand to give a light touch to the one cradling his face. “I am,” he answered with a tender smile. Feliciano’s eyes softened, and he nodded before walking back to the stove through the archway, hissing out a few curses to which Ludwig could only guess that dinner was on the verge of being ruined.

Ludwig huffed out a sigh the moment Feliciano left. It wasn’t that his concern bothered him; on the contrary, it made him feel loved. He just couldn’t explain the odd headaches, why he felt like there was a niggling shard of a memory that wasn't quite his own. He didn’t know, and that frustrated him.

It was far from the first time this had happened. When he was paraded before the other nations after World War Two, he trembled and hid not from the vehement glares and gloating smirks of the Allies, but from the too-sharp agonizing sensation of being ripped apart-- flashes of small hands grabbing desperately at a gold-lined cloak, _“Bitte, mach das nicht.”_ The cloth being ripped from his hands and falling to hard ground, rocks digging into his knees. _“Nimm nicht mehr von mir!”_ At the tribunal, Francis had stared hard at him. He couldn't figure out why beyond the obvious, but more than the hatred he expected, there was a certain… knowing and anticipation within his gaze. He made sure to avoid Francis after that.

He had vague recollection of the searing pain throughout his younger years, but since it never hindered his ability to be useful, he ignored it. It infuriated Feliciano to no end, who felt he had some kind of sadistic urge to atone. He had laughed when Feliciano told him that. Atone for what? His past? While it was atrocious, he had made amends with himself and others as best he could. The others willing to throw it in his face at every meeting they could shove it. Feliciano was less than pleased with his response, and he endeavored to make up for his tactlessness. It took him a week before Feli would stop making passive-aggressive remarks.

…. Speaking of passive-aggressive remarks, there was also the silent treatment. Feliciano had been very quiet as he left him in the living room. He shook off his past recollections and carefully walked through the short hallway, peering around a butter yellow wall to find Feliciano stirring a pot in front of him. He was humming, swaying slightly the tune-- not upset. Good.

Ludwig straightened away from the wall and strode towards Feliciano, intent on helping him when another memory-dream struck him -- Soft auburn hair, lilting melody floating through the air, a bright smile just for him--

He blinked once then walked over behind Feliciano and put his arms round his waist, resting his head upon his lover’s shoulder to watch. Feliciano didn’t jump; instead, he twisted his head around to offer a soft smile and a quick peck to the cheek before turning back to focus on dinner, switching his song to something more upbeat.

Ludwig tucked his head in and swayed along. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t understand these strange memories. What he had here, right now, was enough for him. And he couldn’t be happier.

_We will meet again my friend,_

_A hundred years from today_

_Far away from where we lived_

_And where we used to play._

_We will know each other's' eyes_

_And wonder where we met_

_Your laugh will sound familiar_

_Your heart, I won't forget._

 _We will meet, I'm sure of this,_

_But let's not wait til then..._

_Let's take a walk beneath the stars_

_And share this world again._

**Author's Note:**

> The "song" Feli sings is actually Petrarch's Sonnet 227, one of many sonnets he dedicated to Laura de Noves, his cruel fair in true medieval Romantic fashion. Bleeding hearts, the lot of them. I liked the imagery in it regarding blond hair and the pain of not having someone you love, which fits pretty well.
> 
> The poem "We Will Meet Again" is by Ron Atchinson. Not sure which one of the many Ron Atchinson's out there in the world, but he's one of them.
> 
> On a final note, I have fiddled with the coding on this thing for an hour. What a nightmare


End file.
